“That is Biscuit, yes.”
“Magnificent,” Margaret said gravely, watching Biscuit trot three proud circles around Aaron’s boots. “He has the air of a creature worth owning an estate.”
Emmeline laughed before she could stop herself. “Do not say that too loudly. He already believes the house belongs to him.”
“Does it not?” Margaret asked, widening her eyes. “Look at him. That is not a puppy. That is a landlord in need of rent.”
Emmeline laughed again, and for one moment the tightness beneath her ribs loosened enough that she could breathe without feeling the shape of the dining room around her.
They stepped into the garden together, where the clipped hedges and pale autumn flowers made London seem less gray, less watchful. Aaron stood a few paces ahead with Biscuit hopping at his heels, then glanced back at Margaret.
“G-good morning, Miss Godwin,” he said, with only the smallest hitch.
Margaret’s expression softened at once, though her voice remained bright. “Good morning, Lord Aaron. I am honored to be received by you and your very important dog.”
Aaron blushed, ducking his head as he bent to untangle Biscuit from the edge of a flowerbed. “He is not important. He is only Biscuit.”
“That,” Margaret replied, “is precisely what important creatures want us to think.”
Emmeline watched Aaron’s shoulders relax as he turned back to the puppy, and something tender pressed so sharply beneath her ribs that she had to look down at the path for a moment.
Margaret waited until they had walked a little farther, then slipped her hand through Emmeline’s arm and lowered her voice.
“Now,” she said. “Tell me the truth.”
Emmeline watched a yellow leaf drift from a tree and land upon the gravel. “About what?”
“Please, Emmeline. About your husband.”
The word husband still felt foreign to her, but she tried to force her face into neutrality.
“He is…” Emmeline stopped.
Margaret waited patiently, eyes locked into Emmeline’s face.
“He is difficult,” Emmeline said at last.
Margaret’s brows lifted. “Difficult how?”
“Simply…difficult.”
“Does he bite?”
Heat rushed up Emmeline’s neck before she could stop it. “Margaret.”
“Oh.” Margaret’s expression sharpened into immediate interest. “That was not a denial.”
Emmeline pulled her arm free only to clasp her hands before her. “Nothing has happened.”
Margaret looked almost disappointed. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“And is that by your choice or his?”
Emmeline turned her gaze toward Aaron so she would not have to answer too quickly. He had crouched beside Biscuit now, speaking softly to the dog, his small shoulders relaxed in a way that still felt new.
“I do not know,” she admitted. “Sometimes I think he might want me.”
